The Return Of The Elf
by Elf Eye
Summary: A most unexpected guest attends Aragorn's coronation.


Vocabulary

crist—'sword'

elleth, ellith—'elf maiden', 'elf maidens'

hannon le—'thank you'

lang—'sword'

mae govannen—'well met'

magol—'sword'

megil—'sword'

mellon-nîn—'my friend'

nen—'water'

yrch—'orcs'

The Battle for Helm's Deep was over, and Aragorn stood surveying a field of death covered with the bodies of both friend and foe. Somewhere out there, buried under Orc carcasses, was the body of his friend Haldir. He could not remember a time when there had not been Haldir. Haldir the serious. Haldir the compassionate. Haldir the bold. How was it possible that Haldir was no more? Aragorn wanted to shout aloud, "Haldir lives! Haldir lives!

The Ranger caught movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled about, sword at the ready. There was still the possibility that a few stray Orcs lay hidden, feigning death in order to slay the unwary. But it was no Orc. No, it was a boy, freckled of face, his rusty hair long and unruly.

"Haleth son of Hama, is it not?"

"Aye, my Lord."

"So you see, Haleth, it is indeed true that there is always hope."

Haleth nodded and smiled a little. Aragorn laid his hand upon the lad's shoulder.

"I know it is hard to see victory in the face of the death of so many friends. Victory is never a pretty sight. Nevertheless, for all its ugliness, victory this is, and we shall make the best of it. Friend and kin shall be honored, and in their memory we shall carry the battle to our foes. The time will come when they look with despair upon such a field as this, but it will be upon their own doorstep, not ours."

Haleth straightened his shoulders.

"Shall I be there, my Lord?"

"It is King Théoden who will choose those who ride forth. Be sure, however, that whether or not you ride forth, your service in this war is not at an end."

With that, Aragorn bowed low to the boy, who flushed in astonishment, and strode on, looking for the companions of his quest. When he had found them, he went with them to the keep, where Gandalf, Théoden, Éomer, and Gamling awaited them.

"We must move quickly," Gandalf was saying, "for so shall the enemy. Warriors should be dispatched at once to Edoras, lest roving brigands reduce it to ashes in the absence of the King. It would be a pity if, having defeated the foe at Helm's Deep, the King had no home to return to! King Théoden, I would beg that you and a small party of riders meanwhile accompany me to Isengard, to confront its late master."

"Your counsel is good my friend," said Théoden, "as it has ever been—even when I had not the wit to recognize it as so! Gamling, you will swiftly lead a force to Edoras. Gather together as many mounted warriors as you can, save the few that will accompany me. Éomer, you will ride with me. As my heir, you should now be present at all meetings of great import. You must be familiar with all that transpires so that you are ready to ascend to the throne upon an instant—I am an old Man, and this war is not yet over!"

"What of Helm's Deep?" asked Gamling. "There is much to be set in order here. The dead must be buried; the injured must be cared for; the refugees must be fed. Not all can ride out, for someone must take charge of these tasks.

"True," agreed Théoden. "We must separate those who cannot ride from those who can."

As Théoden had spoken, Aragorn had seemed to ponder further. "Haleth son of Hama," he said suddenly.

"We must make haste. It is the seasoned warriors who must ride," said Théoden impatiently. "Haleth is too young."

"Too young to ride," replied Aragorn, "but not too young to lead. Set him in charge of the tasks that must be accomplished here at Helm's Deep. He is his father's son and will serve you well."

Théoden looked thoughtful.

"Aye," he said, after a moment. "He is young, but in time of war ever the young perforce have stepped into the places of the old. Very well. Let Haleth son of Hama have the rule here in Helm's Deep."

Aragorn's confidence in Haleth had not been misplaced. Informed of the task with which he had been charged, the youth at once set out to organize the surviving refugees who were uninjured or at least hurt only slightly. Some he set to cooking and cleaning and minding those too young to work. Some he set to tending the injured. Some he set to dragging Orc carcasses off to one side, as far from the fortress as strength and time permitted. Others he set to gathering and washing the bodies of their own dead, both Men and Elves. Above the bodies of the Men, Haleth caused barrows to be raised. As for the Elves, before departing Aragorn told Haleth that the Elves should be honored with a funeral pyre.

"They would not want to be buried in foreign soil. Through fire, release their spirits so that they may return to the West."

All was now in readiness for this funeral pyre. Haleth stood holding the torch, gazing for the last time upon the Fair Folk who had traveled far to assist those who were not their kin.

"Hannon le," he whispered reverentially. "Hannon le."

He bent forward to touch the torch to the pyre. Just then, however, he thought he saw a slight movement. He drew himself erect and handed the torch to one of his companions. Then he knelt down by the Elf who had seemed to move.

It was a fair-haired Elf, a bit taller and heavier than the Elf who went about with Lord Aragorn. Upon his back was a grievous wound, but as Haleth watched, he saw that his chest rose and fell, although the breaths were shallow. Haleth leaped to his feet and ordered that the Elf be quickly carried to the healers. He remained behind to check on the condition of each and every Elf who lay upon the funeral pyre. Only when he was satisfied that no others lived did he set alight the wood. Then he hastened back to the keep to see how the survivor fared.

The healers had cleaned and dressed the wound, but in their faces it could plainly be seen that they doubted the Elf would live. Haleth ordered them to nevertheless do everything possible to restore him. Surely, he thought to himself, the Gods did not want this one to die. Yet day after day the Elf lay still, his chest rising and falling, but his eyes open and unfocused, as if he already walked among the dead. Every day Haleth visited him, but he saw no change.

Fascinated by the Fair Folk, Haleth had haunted their steps during the short time they had been in Helm's Deep, watching them and listening to their melodic speech. He had of course perceived that 'Hannon le' meant 'Thank you' and also that 'Mae govannen' signified 'Well met'. Beyond that, he could repeat various words, but knew not their meaning. At last he one day summoned forth every remembered phrase in a desperate attempt to rouse the Elf from his stupor.

"Yrch?" he said hopefully. He had heard that word uttered frequently.

The Elf flinched and moaned. Perhaps 'yrch' was not a good choice.

"Crist?"

The Elf did not move.

"Lang?"

Still no response.

"Magol? Megil?"

Haleth thought that he saw both a flicker in the eyes of the Elf and a slight smile upon his lips.

"Elleth?"

The Elf's eyes came into focus.

"Elleth?" he said with an effort. "Where?"

"If you tell me what an 'elleth' is?" replied Haleth eagerly, "I shall fetch you one. Indeed, I shall fetch you elleths aplenty!"

The Elf chuckled softly.

"Ellith."

"Your pardon, my Lord?'

"The plural of 'elleth' is 'ellith'."

"Ellith?"

"Aye."

"Very well, then, my Lord. I shall fetch you some 'ellith' at once! Tell me what they are."

The Elf merely smiled.

"I thank you, but I doubt if you have any hereabouts. Besides, I would much prefer 'nen'."

"Nen?"

"Water."

Haleth leapt to his feet.

"I shall fetch you some 'nen' at once!"

From a ewer the youth poured some water into a cup. Carefully, he raised the Elf's head slightly so that he could drink a few sips without choking.

"Hannon le," said the Elf at last.

"I know what that means," said Haleth proudly. "It means 'Thank you'!"

The Elf nodded slightly. Then, with an effort, he spoke again.

"If I am alive and you are alive, then we assuredly have won the battle. The Orcs would not have left any survivors.

"Yes," said Haleth. "We won, but at great cost. Your kinsmen**….**" The youth paused.

"Yes?" said the Elf.

"Not many of your kinsmen are still alive, and those who remain are for the most part grievously wounded."

The Elf nodded his understanding. Then his eyes suddenly once again glazed over.

"Oh, Lord Elf, do not die!" begged Haleth.

The Elf's eyes came back into focus.

"I am merely going to sleep a bit."

The Elf dozed on and off for the remainder of the day. Whenever he roused himself, he found Haleth at his side, water at the ready. The youth also urged him to take a little bread dipped in broth, or at least to drink some of the broth itself, but the Elf did not yet have the stomach for anything other than 'nen'.

The next day the Elf felt a little stronger and took both bread and broth. When the healers changed the bandages that covered the wound, Haleth could see that, not only was there no sign of infection, but the wound was healing, and rapidly. It was plain that the Elf was going to survive. Haleth was filled with a joy that he had thought he would never again feel after the death of his father. The Elf was an omen, the youth was sure. No matter how grievous its wounds, Middle Earth would revive and the land and people of Rohan would be restored.

In a few more days, to the amazement of the healers, the Elf was up and about. He insisted on walking upon the battlements, gazing ever to the southeast, toward Gondor, and beyond that, to Mordor. A darkness hovered over those lands. One morning, however, the shadows dissipated. At length messengers arrived from Minas Tirith. Haleth listened to their words and then hastened to the Elf.

"Minas Tirith has withstood the siege of the forces of Mordor. But, alas, King Théoden has fallen!"

"What of Aragorn and Legolas and the Dwarf?"

"Lord Aragorn and Prince Legolas still live, as does the Dwarf. They will now march upon Mordor!"

"Upon Mordor! Bring me my bow!"

"Nay, you are not yet fit for battle! And even if you tried to join your friends, you would not arrive in time. The host will have left already."

The Elf grimaced but nodded.

"At least," he said at last, "I must travel as far as Minas Tirith, there to await the outcome of the battle. I wish to stand and fall with my friends! If they are destroyed before the Gates of Mordor, then Minas Tirith shall not long outlast them."

Haleth consulted the healers, who said that the Elf might ride if he did not set too fast a pace. So it was that Haleth stood upon the battlements, watching as the mounted figure slowly dwindled into the distance. But before the Elf had left, he had taught the youth one last word.

"Mellon," he said placing his hand upon the shoulder of the youth. "Friend. Mellon-nîn. My friend."

A fortnight later, the Elf Legolas smiled upon Frodo, who had just awoken from the sleep that had taken him after the destruction of the ring. After awhile, however, melancholy seized the Prince of Greenwood, and he slipped quietly away. Aragorn saw him, and perceiving his grief, excused himself from the gathering and went after his friend.

"Legolas, mellon-nîn," the Man said when he found him, "you are sad."

"Yes," said Legolas, "much has been saved and many restored to us, but not all and not everyone."

Aragorn nodded wordlessly. The two stood silently side by side for a time. At last Legolas spoke once more.

"I would like to return to Helm's Deep. Since we had need of haste, I did not search for Haldir's body, as I should have otherwise. I know that the Man who was left in charge will have treated his body with honor, but I should like to go to the place and utter my farewell."

"Of course, Legolas. And I shall accompany you."

"As will I," growled a voice. "You don't think you can be shut of me, I hope. For we Dwarves can hold on tight, aye, as in a death grip!"

Legolas smiled and turned to his friend Gimli.

"Yes, you Dwarves _can_ hold on tight—and I have the bruises round my middle as proof of that!"

Gimli spluttered in indignation as Aragorn laughed. Just then a servant came up with a message for the Man.

"Lord Aragorn, an Elf has just arrived who begs leave to speak with you."

"Did he give his name?"

"Nay, but he assured me that you would wish to see him at once."

"Very well. I shall be in my pavilion. Your pardon, Legolas, Gimli."

Aragorn strode off to his tent. A short while later a servant ushered in the visitor. His hood was up, and he wore the garb of the Rohirrim but carried a bow like those borne by the Elves of Lothlórien.

Aragorn stood to greet him, and the Elf pushed back his hood.

"Haldir!"

In a second Aragorn had covered the distance between them and was flinging his arms around his friend.

"Ah, Aragorn," gasped Haldir, "do not squeeze so tightly. My back is still sore."

"I am sorry!" exclaimed Aragorn, loosening his grip but loathe to let go of his friend altogether. "But how is this possible—no, why not! Against all hope, Gandalf was restored to us, and Frodo and Sam returned from the fires of Mount Doom. Why should you not come back again!? But your injury, it was a grievous one."

"Aye, but I was lovingly nursed by one Haleth son of Hama, who seemed to be personally affronted by the prospect that I might die."

"Haleth son of Hama! Oh, he is indeed his father's son, loyal and devoted! I shall have to say a word on his behalf to Éomer. But come, I must take you to Legolas."

Haldir shook his head.

"No, I have in mind a surprise for that young Elf, to pay him back for his many pranks over the centuries!"

Not too long afterward came the day for which Aragorn, Elrond, and Gandalf had worked so long: the coronation of Aragorn, formerly Strider the Dunadain, Ranger of the North, as King Elessar Telcontar of Gondor. The majesty of that event hearkened back to the days of legend, yea, even to those days before evil had been set loose upon Middle Earth. Folk of many realms crowded the city of Minas Tirith, all dressed in their finest weeds, hair adorned with garlands. Singing was heard, and laughter, and banners fluttered from every window.

Prince Legolas led the elven delegation. Behind him came many of the Fair Folk, one of whom carried a banner that was to be presented to the newly crowned King. As Elessar accepted it, its bearer stepped out from behind its cover and lifted her head. Arwen! Elessar felt giddy. He hardly knew what to do, but suddenly, impulsively, he seized her and pulled her into an embrace. She welcomed him with a kiss. Judging from the laughter and cheers that broke out from the onlookers, the first act of his realm had been an acceptable one.

Legolas had been grinning broadly at Aragorn's confusion and sudden joy. Now Aragorn caught his eye and nodded toward another banner. Thinking that his friend desired him to carry that flag, Legolas moved toward it and laid his hand upon the staff. Its bearer stepped out from behind the banner and drew back his hood.

"Haldir!"

Gimli never let too many days pass without reminding Legolas of his reaction to the sudden reappearance of his friend.

"Never thought I'd see an Elf fall right on his—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Legolas. "Will you never tire of reminding me?"

Gimli drew on his pipe before answering.

"No," he chortled at last, "I never will. You'd best get used to it."

"Very well, Gimli. I did not wish to resort to taking this step, but you leave me no choice. I happen to know that, at Helm's Deep, when you and Aragorn slipped outside the fortress to battle the Orcs upon the causeway, the only reason you were able to make the leap from the hidden door to the bridge was that—"

"Aragorn!" bellowed Gimli. "'Don't tell the Elf', I said, and he said, 'Not a word'. Where is he? I'm going to kill him!"

Gimli stormed out of the room in search of the King, leaving Legolas to grin at Haldir.

"I never cease to wonder at the friendship between you and that Dwarf," said the Lothlórien Elf. "'Tis an amazing thing."

"No more amazing than The Return of the Elf," teased Legolas.

Haldir laughed.

"That sounds like the title of a book, my friend."

"Who knows," said Legolas, pouring himself and his friend a glass of the Dorwinion wine left over from the coronation. "Mayhap some day it will be."

And with that, the two Elves toasted both The Return of the King and The Return of the Elf.


End file.
